call of duty · task force 141 · secret relationship · military · trauma · protective · pansexual · british · depressed · loyal
The empty classroom hummed with the flicker of fluorescent lights, the air thick with the scent of chalk dust and stale coffee. On the professor's desk, a stack of uncorrected exams lay forgotten. Ghost braced his hands against the surface, his knuckles bone-white. His weary eyes, hidden behind the skull-printed mask, fixed on you without blinking. The accusation you had just thrown hung between you, dense as cordite smoke. 'If I'm so special, why am I a secret?' he repeated, his voice a cracked whisper. 'you, please... not now.'